


A Witcher's Favorite Things

by SensationalSunburst



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Geralt is a good dad, Good Friend Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Lambert and Eskel are Good Bros, Vesemir Is Their Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:13:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SensationalSunburst/pseuds/SensationalSunburst
Summary: "I see." Vesemir said, "What I know is this- Geralt is fond of few things. Rich, dark beers, straight forward speech, good music and the smell of lilacs and gooseberries.""Music, lilacs and gooseberries." She muttered, then brightened, "Thank you, Uncle Vesemir!"ORCiri seeks out Geralt's favorite things to cheer him up.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 28
Kudos: 540





	A Witcher's Favorite Things

"Sir Vesemir, may I ask you a question?" 

Vesemir looked up as Cirilla finally gathered the courage to edge onto the balcony with him, watching over Geralt and Lambert as they spared about the courtyard below. He’d listened to her hesitant footsteps outside the library for the better part of ten minutes, approaching and retreating over and over again, the swish of her ebony cloak (a gift from Geralt) and the minuscule size of her gait a dead giveaway. 

The wind immediately picked her ashen hair up as she stepped into the open air, tossing it about until she caged it with her hands. Their height and the clang of the swords meeting below had tricked the girl into thinking they wouldn't be overheard, but Geralt had chosen not to look away from his fight, so Vesemir nodded. 

"Only if you drop the 'Sir', Princess." 

"I am no Princess."

"And I am no knight, ask your question." Vesemir didn't smile at the pout on her face, but it was a near thing. She’d only been traveling with Geralt for a short time, but she’d already picked up a few of his mannerisms, the indigent pout chief among them.

"It's about Geralt," she said softly, edging forward to peer over the railing. "I think that…that he's sad. I want to help but I don't know how. I don't know what he likes, he won't tell me. "

Vesemir hummed and didn't turn around when he heard the sound of Lambert's startled laughter below, instead, he gestured forward, keeping his face even in a mirror of the seriousness of Cirilla's expression. 

"You're the one who knows him best, right?" She followed at his heels as he led her back inside and away from the sharp ears of the wolves below.

"I suppose so. Your task is difficult, you understand-" 

"I know." She interrupted, "But, well. When I felt poorly, my grandmother would bring me things I liked, it always helped me feel better." 

"I see." Vesemir said, "What I know is this- Geralt is fond of few things. Rich, dark beers, straight forward speech…" 

Cirilla's brow was drawn tight with concern as they descended the tower and Vesemir couldn't help the smirk that the expression brought forth. A child of Destiny, indeed. 

"...and," he said, "I know he enjoys music and the scent of lilacs and gooseberries." 

"Music, lilacs and gooseberries." She muttered, then brightened, "Thank you, Uncle Vesemir!" 

And for the first time in a long time, Vesemir was too stunned to respond. 

* * *

Yennefer met Ciri after a persistent tug around her heart kept her awake for nearly two days. She’d come to recognize the feeling as Destiny, something tugged on where her chaos was most concentrated, and identical in feeling to the magnetism that pulled her towards Geralt. 

She tore a hole through spacetime, stepped onto the muddy training ground of Kaer Morhen and found herself greeted by the thud of a small, blonde child bodily throwing herself into her arms. 

And that- that was something _unique_.

It was a tug from Destiny entirely different than the one that alerted her to where Geralt lurked in the shadows beside Vesemir, shoulders dropping as she returned the girl’s embrace. 

But then, abruptly, Cirilla pulled back, understanding dawning on her face as she began to bounce on her toes. 

“It’s you!” She crowed, delighted, “ _You_ are lilacs and gooseberries!” 

Geralt made a strangled sound from the shadows and Ciri squeezed Yennefer's waist just that much tighter, practically vibrating. 

“I know you and Geralt and Uncle Vesemier have much to discuss, but when you’re finished I wish to speak with you,” Cirilla whispered as if the witchers couldn’t hear. Violet eyes met gold above Ciri's head and Yennefer all but purred in satisfaction at the subtle, yet distinctive horror that manifested on Geralt’s face. 

“My dear,” she said, “You can I can speak _first_ ; the witchers will hold.”

* * *

Cirillia (“ _Ciri_ , please.”) laid out her case to Yennefer from the newly reinforced privacy of her rooms. A simple spell of silence had Geralt silently losing his mind, evidenced by the repeated passes he made by the room, visible only to Yennefer by the length of the shadow that approached the door, paused, then retreated. 

“-gooseberries and music, you see. And if _you_ are lilacs and gooseberries, that means that _music_ is a person as well, and I was hoping you could help me figure out who they are and how we can get them, uh, well, get them here.” The speech clearly mostly practiced, but Yennefer’s lack of resistance seemed to be throwing the girl off. However, it was the heart of the plea itself that was so unexpected. 

_Geralt is sad,_ Ciri had said, _Vesemir said it was because he missed you._

“-can’t stay forever, but my grandfather was always so happy when his friends came to visit that he seemed cheered for days and just, well, he’s been sad for _so long_ -”

Geralt, Ciri claimed, was trying hard to be everything he’d never thought he’d be. He bought her master-crafted, practical gifts and random assortments of sundries he thought she’d like. Geralt brought her flowers and fruits and tarts, little shiny things he collected like a magpie, but there was something, Ciri said, palms up and desperate, something so _sad_ about how he watched the sunset, how he looked at lilacs and snarled when Lambert hummed a specific jaunty tune. She’d tried flowers at first, she explained, building crowns of the bright yellow dandelions that grew by the roadside, but the sight of them made him flinch. 

“I thought he was allergic,” Ciri said, “But then he said witchers don’t get ill, so that couldn’t be it.”

Yennefer leaned forward and grasped Ciri’s hands in her own to still them and waited until the girl met her eyes before speaking. “Cirilla, let this be our first lesson.” 

The girl stood like a royal immediately, shoulders down and back, neck long, face serious. The posture of someone used to lectures and lessons. 

“Men are idiots,” Yennefer said, and, almost as if on cue, felt the tug of Geralt's presence edging towards the room again. She released the spell of silence, letting in the sounds of the night and allowing herself to be heard in the hallway as she continued, “Witchers, above all. Remember that always in your dealings with them.” 

Ciri laughed, “My grandmother said the same thing.” 

“Then you’re ahead in your lessons already.” 

" _Yen."_ Geralt's grumble rumbled from the doorway, displeased. 

* * *

Yennefer and Geralt remained upstairs for the rest of the day, not coming down for dinner or even to watch her wipe the floor with Lambert at Gwent as was their tentative new tradition afterward. But the next morning, just after breakfast, Yennefer glided down the stairs, smacked a kiss to Ciri's forehead and tore open a portal in the middle of the courtyard. 

"You owe me, Cirilla." She declared, but despite the ominous tone, she was smiling. Or rather, she was until Geralt vaulted from the upper rampart, "Yen, don't you da-”

Yennefer lifted her fingers towards Geralt, lips splitting into a devious smile and stepped backward into the swirling warmth of her spell. The portal vanished on Geralt’s last syllable, leaving it to drop down into the silence with all the grace of a lead balloon. " _Fuck_."

Geralt looked to her sharply, arms crossed tightly over his chest and an accusation in his eyes.

“I’m innocent.” Ciri batted her eyelashes and laced her fingers behind her back.

“I _severely_ doubt that, but I know who is to blame for this.” He spun on his heel and stalked towards the back corner of the courtyard, roaring. “Vesemir!” 

Lambert and Eskel slunk from the shadows to flank her, both staring at the warpath Geralt carved as he stomped through the fortress. 

“What have you done, little wolf?” Eskel laughed. 

“Nothing!” Ciri cried, throwing her hands in the air again, “Vesemir said that he liked music, and he’s just been so sad lately that I asked Yennefer if she knew what we could do to bring in some music.” 

“ _Sad_?” Lambert scoffed. 

“ _Oh_.” Eskel said, “The bard.” 

“Bard?” Ciri looked back and forth between them as Lambert and Eskel locked eyes; their twin smirks carved their lips into wolfish shapes. 

* * *

Geralt had been perched on the ramparts watching the sunset (“Pouting.” Vesemir had smirked) for about twenty minutes, the crease between his eyebrows as deep as the bruises beneath his eyes when Yennefer’s portal reopened on the same spot of scorched grass as that morning. 

She stepped out, dragging a young, brightly dressed man after her by his collar, a lute strapped over his back. 

“I was in the middle of a _very_ lucrative performance, witch, what gives you the right to _kidnap_ me when I was very clearly-” He aggressively tugged his sapphire feathered hat into place, back peddling to put distance between himself and the visibly unimpressed Yennefer, falling silent in his tirade only when Geralt’s voice fell across the courtyard, quiet and yet booming all at once. 

“Jaskier.” 

“Oh!” Ciri cheered as if she'd just won a prize, “Of course, a _bard_!” 

“ _The_ bard,” Lambert snorted. 

Ciri scrambled to her feet, ignoring Geralt’s call to wait, and scampered down to the courtyard. Jaskier was frozen, eyes on Geralt until she snatched up his hands, tugging at them in excitement. 

“ _You’re_ the music he likes!” 

“You… are the child surprise? Wait, what? My... my _music_ ?” He glared up at Geralt, “You said it was an _empty pie_!” 

“Jaskier-” 

“What’s this all about, huh? You want more servings of _empty pie_ ? Does every witcher on the continent yearn for a taste? Did you recruit them to berate me? You want me to _walk_ all the way back to Velen?” 

“Lambert. Eskel. Inside, now.” Vesemir shooed the other witchers as Jaskier’s voice grew in pitch. 

“Oh no,” Lambert said, “This is too good-” 

“ _Now_.” 

“- doing just fine, thank you very much! Bringing misery to nobody, I'll have you know!” Geralt only moved after Vesemir all but dragged the other witchers inside, edging closer like he thought Jaskier would run. 

Ciri looked between Yennefer, Jaskier, and Geralt, unsure of what to do. Yen’s expression was hard to read, falling somewhere in the range of satisfied, but Geralt’s expression was crumpled in a way that suggested he was frustrated with himself, not angry like she’d initially interpreted the expression. 

(“I’m… not great with words.” He’d said, sitting down with her over a campfire, “Ask me for clarification if you need to. I’ll- We’ll work on it.” And he’d been so earnest, so serious, like her opinion of him was _important_ that she’d felt her heart thump painfully in her chest.)

“He was sad,” Ciri blurted, stepping forward to put one hand on Jaskier’s arm and the other on Geralt’s. It silenced them both and Yen nodded, just once, when Ciri looked toward her. 

“He was sad and I wasn’t sure how to help. I thought to ask Vesemir, because he’s known him the longest, and he said he missed music.” Ciri shook Jaskier’s arm, “Music and the smell of lilacs and gooseberries. And then Yen came, and it helped, but he was still sad, you see?” 

“ _Ciri_.”

“Let her speak, Geralt.” Yennefer said. Geralt bristled, eyes locked on a distant location just past the trembling feather on Jaskier’s cap, but exhaled heavily, shoulders slumping a moment later. 

“He’s not great with words,” Ciri plowed on, tugging on Geralt and Jaskier’s arms until they were forced to grasp each other hands, “I may be wrong, but I always felt awful when I fought with my friends.” Her face crumbled momentarily, memories of being confused, surrounded and betrayed, surging forth. “Some people never get the chance to apologize or to see their friends again, so, you should take advantage.” 

“Well said,” Yennefer said, sweeping around to place her hands on Ciri’s shoulders. At the touch, Ciri released her trembling hold on Geralt and Jaskier and stepped backward into Yennefer’s chest, eyes locked on the pair as Geralt gently took Jaskier’s other hand in his own. “We’ll leave you to it.”

Yennefer’s confident tone allowed Ciri to turn her back on her witcher and the bard, turning her head only a few times as she was led back inside to watch as the stepped closer and closer together, Geralt’s expression earnest and sad. 

“No peeking,” Yennefer chided, “You know what they say about watched pots.” 

“What?” 

Yennefer heaved a sigh, “They never kiss.” 

She could hear Vesemir’s heavy sigh from across the room, “ _Yennefer_.” 

* * *

Ciri didn’t see Geralt, Jaskier or Yennefer until dinner the next day. But when they came downstairs it was with Geralt sandwiched between them, arms linked. And when she caught the witcher’s eye- he smiled. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Sound of Music  
> Thanks so much for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments below!


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